


No Time for Words

by blancafic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS Fic Net 2.0's Mid-Year Fic Exchange, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Season/Series 02, Time Travel, post 5x22
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-14 18:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15394752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancafic/pseuds/blancafic
Summary: Written for AoS FicNet's 2018 Mid-year Fic Exchange and based on this prompt:"Words are a source of misunderstanding." (subtext, hidden meaning, imagined hurt - when all we ever need is a touch)Set between 2x04 and 2x05. The team goes on a mission to investigate an anomaly near the Canadian border and meets a peculiar stranger with an incredible story to tell.





	1. Fitz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrusselsSprout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrusselsSprout/gifts).



The Playground - 2014

Fitz was attempting to focus on a set of schematics for the new aircraft he'd been working on when Skye poked her head into the lab. He knew she'd been standing in the hallway watching him for a few minutes already, but he'd decided to ignore her. It wasn't just Skye, everyone did it -- observing him carefully, assessing his mood before daring to approach. To be fair, it was only self-preservation on their parts. For all they knew he could bite their heads off for breathing too loudly. His patience was in short supply of late, and he conserved most of it for his work.

When Skye spoke, it was brisk and professional. "Fitz, Coulson needs us on the Bus."

In spite of his difficulty concentrating, today was one of the good days -- a day when his thoughts were as clear and moved almost as briskly as they did before . . . well, _before_. He was having more of those days lately. But even on the good days he still had trouble finding his words, and the more he tried to control his unsteady hands, the more they rebelled against him.

He looked at Skye again, realizing his train of thought had gone off the rails again. She was still waiting for confirmation that he'd understood her.

"Got it," he told her, closing the program. He wasn't making any progress anyway. "Be right there."

She nodded and for a moment her impassive mask slipped. He recognized the look of pity in her eyes. He'd seen it dozens of times in the past few months. It didn't even bother him anymore. Well, not as much. Then, the look was gone and so was she, without another word. He missed the way they used to talk and laugh together. But talking and laughing weren't things he did much of anymore. With anyone. 

"Another mission," said a cheery, all-too-familiar voice behind him. He knew who he'd see when he turned around. He also knew he was the only one who could see her. "And they're including you in the briefing. That's a good sign."

"Well, you're not invited," he whispered under his breath, in case anyone else was watching. He turned, and there she was, dressed in the same dark blue jumper he always imagined her in, the same pristine white collar framing her lovely neckline. It made sense she would look like this. The mental picture had been burned into his brain the first time he realized he truly couldn't live without her. Like a molecular template imprinted onto a polymer matrix.

"Exactly," the Simmons-who-was-not-Simmons said. "Excellent analogy, Fitz."

"Thought you'd appreciate that," he said, not bothering to keep his voice down anymore.

"I know you did," she reminded him. 

"Right. Course."

How could he recall terms like "polymer matrix" now when this morning he couldn't come up with the word for the thing that cooks bread? _Toaster. Damn it._ No matter how much he read or studied his condition, the human mind, particularly his own, remained a stubborn mystery. And words, well, he'd never been very good with them, but now they were the bane of his existence.

"You'd better get going," Simmons said. "Don't want to keep Coulson waiting."

Fitz was the last one to arrive at the briefing, but it hadn't started yet; they'd waited for him. He took some comfort in that. Coulson nodded to him as he joined the team around the table, then brought up an image on the display. It showed a lighthouse on a rocky headland overlooking blue water. The scene was so picturesque it could have been a postcard.

"Satellite monitoring picked up some unusual readings under this lighthouse near the Canadian border," Coulson told the team.

"What kind of readings?" asked Skye.

"A flash of bright light," Coulson answered.

"Here's a flash for you: it's a lighthouse," Hunter interjected.

Coulson continued his explanation undeterred, a quick sideways glance the only indication he'd heard Hunter speak. "Followed by a burst of unquantifiable energy. Then nothing. Scans show a massive structure of some kind beneath the surface. Way beneath. We have no idea how far down it goes."

"Is it occupied?" asked Mack.

"Hasn't been for decades. It was decommissioned in the late '60s. Now it's fully automated. There's a small town nearby. No records of any strange activity."

"Yeah. Until now," Trip added.

"So we're going to check it out. I'll have more when we get there."

May, ever the dutiful soldier, was already on her way to the cockpit. "Where are we headed, sir?"

"Lake Ontario."

On the way to the lighthouse, Skye, Hunter, Trip, and Mack sat around the commons, speculating about whether Coulson and May had ever hooked up and taking bets about when they would again. Fitz didn't feel like joining in, so he stared out the window, content to watch the patterns of the terrain shift and change beneath them. For once, his mind was quiet; no dark or jumbled thoughts, no Simmons, just distant shapes in shades of brown, yellow, and green.

Eventually, the lighthouse came into view. It looked just like the picture Coulson had showed them, except for a disturbance in the water a short distance away. He knew there was a word for it, but a quick search of his unreliable mental database came back with no results.

"Hey, there's, um," he tried to tell the group, but they were all laughing loudly at something Trip had said and no one heard. "There's a thing . . . in the, uh . . ."

They were interrupted by Coulson, who burst in from the direction of the cockpit, clearly excited. His entrance caught their attention in a way Fitz never could. "Guys, you've got to come see this."

They all crowded to peer through the cockpit windows as the whirlpool -- _yes_ , that was the word -- Fitz had spotted earlier grew larger and became a circular waterfall, descending into what looked like an aircraft hangar below. Even more astonishing, the landing pad was emblazoned with an old S.H.I.E.L.D. logo.

"Another one of Fury's secret bases?" May asked.

"Not sure," Coulson said. "There's nothing about it in the Toolbox."

"So either it's a fake S.H.I.E.L.D. base . . . " Skye began.

"Or it's so secret even Fury didn't know about it," Coulson finished.

"I'm not sure which is worse," Hunter chimed in.

A dark expression came over the director's face. "Me either. But we'd better be ready for anything."

May gave him a little predatory smile, the one she wore when she was expecting a fight. "Since when am I not?"

Once the Bus landed, the group gathered again in the briefing room to hear Coulson's final orders. Fitz hung back, out of the way, afraid he might be assigned a task he wasn't quite up to yet, or worse, expected to _talk_. Which was ridiculous, Simmons unhelpfully pointed out, because standing three feet away wasn't going to make any difference if anyone really wanted his input.

"Okay, May is with me. The rest of you hold back and monitor coms from here."

They waited for more, but no further orders came. Skye was the first to say what everyone else, apart from Coulson and May, were thinking. "Wait. That's it?" 

Hunter didn't even attempt to hide his annoyance. "Fantastic. Another mission where we're stuck on the plane while you two are off gallivanting about."

That earned him a dirty look from both superior officers.

"We don't know what we're dealing with down there. And I'm not risking my team any more than I have to."

"You ask me, you're just trying to score some more alone time with the missus," Hunter pressed. He pointed at May, though everyone knew who he meant.

Coulson turned on him, his jaw set. "You are more than welcome to leave this plane, Mr. Hunter, but don't expect to be allowed back on it." 

Hunter's demeanor instantly transformed from defiant to deferential. Coulson had that effect on people when he was in Director Mode. "Copy that, sir."

"That goes for all of you." Coulson looked directly at Skye when he said it, but the rest of the team nodded in agreement all the same. Skye merely rolled her eyes. Then he turned to Fitz, who tensed in anticipation of a forthcoming order. "Fitz, can you operate the D.W.A.R.F.s remotely from here?"

Coulson's eyes were soft, with the same look of pity Skye had given him earlier, as he waited for an answer. The task itself was something he could easily handle. If only he could convey that clearly to Coulson in a way that would make him believe it.

"I . . . Yes. I can, sir. You'd just need to . . . erm . . ." Fitz grunted in frustration, reaching for the word. 

Mack helpfully tried to fill in the blank. "Uh, activate?"

"No no." Fitz waved his hands, as if swatting the rejected word out of the air.

"Monitor?"

"No!" He slammed his good hand against the bulkhead.

Now accustomed to Fitz's frequent temper flares, Mack ignored the outburst and tried again. "Deploy?"

"Yes!" Fitz said, pointing at Mack and calming down instantly. "You need to deploy them on the ground."

"I think we can manage that," Coulson said.

Mack helped Fitz set up the tablet that controlled the D.W.A.R.F.s while they both monitored Coulson and May's progress through the underground tunnel that lead away from the landing bay. The pair didn't encounter any trouble as they approached the structure under the lighthouse. It seemed to be abandoned, or perhaps it had never been used. 

They entered through a door that was reinforced but unlocked, and informed Fitz they were ready to deploy the D.W.A.R.F.s. He opened the program on his tablet, prepared to accept the input the drones would be transmitting back, but stalled when he heard a sound come over the coms. A voice.

"Coulson! May!" It was a man's voice, but Fitz didn't recognize it. He looked at Mack, who shrugged his shoulders, equally stumped. "I'm so happy to see you guys!" the man said.

Fitz heard Coulson ask, "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Uh, I guess we haven't yet," the man responded. "My name is Deke Shaw. I came here from the future."

Hearing that, Mack shook his head, then looked at Fitz. "Great," he said bitterly. "Now we gotta deal with time travel."


	2. Deke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But wait," you are asking, "how did Deke get to season two?" Here's how.

The Lighthouse - 2018

As much as he hated to admit it, Deke missed the Lighthouse. Not so much the Lighthouse itself -- because screw that place -- but the people inside it. He missed Daisy, of course. But he also missed Jemma and her patient, encouraging smiles that reminded him so much of his mother. He missed Coulson's stern-but-caring-dad vibe and the way May could kill you with her bare hands, or just a look. He missed Mack, who had saved his life though he barely knew him, and Yo-Yo, who promised to make him tacos when she got the hang of her new arms. He even missed Fitz and his annoying habit of always being annoyed. What no one told you about finding a family after years of living without one was how hard it was to let them go.

He got as far as Rochester before he realized that the Earth hadn't cracked apart and he hadn't disappeared. It was the best-case scenario. He had plenty of time to see the world now. And he would, right after he checked in with the team. He'd caught some of the battle with Graviton on a TV news report, telling everyone in the bar that he knew Quake personally and getting strange looks as he sipped on his fourth Zima. According to the reporter lady, S.H.I.E.L.D. was back and that was a good thing because they'd defeated Graviton and saved the world. So, after sleeping off his warm buzz in the bunk of his rented RV, Deke headed straight back to the Lighthouse to find them.

He parked the RV in River's End and found the secret entrance to the tunnel that led directly to the bunker. There didn't seem to be anyone guarding the place, so he made his way to the command center, passing restocked storage rooms and noting the unfamiliar, updated tech that had been installed in his absence. The Lighthouse might not have been necessary to save humanity this time around, but it would be well equipped to handle the next extinction-level event.

The computers in the command center were still up and running, sending signals remotely to whoever's job it was to monitor the facility. He checked the surveillance system and confirmed that the Zephyr was gone, and so was the team. He was about to send a message when a warning flashed on the screen, indicating a disturbance on one of the lower levels. Level 30. Where the monoliths had been stored. That was bad. Really, really bad.

Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound.

Followed by a familiar buzzing and a dizzying sensation.

Then he suddenly felt unstable, like every molecule in his body was being pulled apart. He'd felt this before. Once before.

He rolled his eyes and said, to no one in particular, "Not aga--" but was cut off before he could finish.

The next thing he knew he was back in the Lighthouse.

Except it was all wrong. It wasn't the Lighthouse from his time. That's where he'd expected to wind up when everything went all whooshy. But they'd broken the loop, so maybe he was in the rewritten future? There was a bank of clunky beige boxes with dull black screens where the shiny, flat monitors had been before. They didn't look very futuristic. Maybe if he could get the system online he could figure out where -- or, more precisely, _when_ \-- he was.

It took some time and a lot of trial and error, but he managed to get one of the computers working. The screen flashed on and a series of green code scrolled across it at a rapid pace.

"Okay," Deke told himself, rubbing his hands together. "Now we're in business."

Before long, he knew his way around the entire system. He could control each component individually, or shut them all down with a few commands. He wished Fitz had been there to see him in action. Just so he could gloat about it, not because he desperately sought Fitz's praise or approval or anything. Definitely not because of that.

The sound of an alert brought him out of his thoughts, followed by a message on the screen. It read: "Incoming aircraft detected. Unknown S.H.I.E.L.D. designation. Activate hydraulic intake sequence? Y/N" Deke was fairly certain this was a reference to the underwater hangar where the team had kept the Zephyr. And if someone was coming from S.H.I.E.L.D. they might be able to lead him to Coulson and the rest of the team, or at least help him figure out what was going on.

He pressed the "Y" key and waited.

The Lighthouse - 2014

"Can you say that again?" Coulson asked in disbelief. He didn't quite look like the Coulson Deke knew from before -- or from later? Damn, time travel was confusing. The man was a bit thinner, clean shaven, and his hair was a little darker, but the biggest change went beyond the surface. He couldn't explain it exactly, but there was something stiffer about this version of Coulson, like a new pair of boots that hadn't been fully worn in yet.

"My name is Deke--"

"No, the other part."

"I know it sounds crazy," Deke said. "But I was sucked through a portal in time by an alien monolith. Twice, actually. And now I'm here. What year is it, anyway?"

"It's 2014. How long have you been in this bunker?"

Deke scoffed and looked around at the place that had been his home in two vastly different time periods. "I was born here. Like fifty years from now. Although that probably won't happen in this timeline. In _this_ timeline I just got here. From 2018. I guess four years isn't too bad, all things considered."

May raised her ICER and pointed it at Deke. "Can I shoot him already?" She was clearly addressing Coulson, but kept her eyes on her target. "This guy's giving me a headache."

"It's good to know some things don't change." Deke grinned and May gave him a quizzical look.

Coulson put his left hand up, his _real_ left hand. Deke tried not to stare. Fitz's work was good, but it wasn't that good. Whatever had happened, it hadn't happened yet. "Easy, May. Let's try and talk this through first."

"Can we do it quickly? I promise I'll answer any questions you have. I'd just really like to get out of here before that monolith beneath us gets any other ideas."

"What is this place? Is there anyone else here?"

"It's called the Lighthouse. Kind of a shelter meant to withstand a massive catastrophic event. S.H.I.E.L.D. set it up and then forgot about it. That's why there's no mention of it in your records. And no, there's no one else. Just me. You can use one of Fitz's D.W.A.R.F. thingies to scan it if you don't believe me."

He pointed to the case at their feet. Coulson and May shared a look, communicating without words. Whether his mention of Fitz made him seem more credible or more suspicious, Deke couldn't tell. "We recorded a strange reading on one of the lower levels." Coulson said. "You know anything about that?"

Deke let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, that was me. Look, is there any way we could continue this conversation somewhere else? This place isn't safe. We need to leave. Now"

Coulson nodded at May and she lowered her weapon, but didn't holster it. "Let's get him back to the Bus," he said. "We can finish this conversation in the cage."

May flicked the barrel of the ICER in the direction of the tunnel. "Let's go," she said. She didn't have to tell him twice.

The room they'd called "the cage" wasn't actually a cage, but it _was_ a cell of some kind. Also, "the bus" wasn't a bus at all, but a plane. Where did they get these names? There was no sign of any other passengers aboard as Coulson and May led him through the plane to this windowless room, but he heard them talking to someone on coms. At one point Coulson had spoken directly into a camera positioned high up on a wall, to someone named Skye, who must have been watching through a video feed.

From what he could tell when they brought him in, the plane wasn't as big as the Zephyr. In fact, it seemed sort of . . . cozy. People had lived in the Zephyr in the future, but this Bus seemed specifically designed for that purpose. A place to live together and work together and travel around the world having adventures; it was a mind-blowing concept. If only he could see more of it than four grey walls covered in some kind of weird, geometric pattern.

The room was empty except for a metal table with two chairs on either side, one of which he was currently seated in. Coulson sure loved to lock him up. Deke had no idea how long he had been waiting before he returned and sat in the opposite chair.

"So Mr. Shaw," he said, not unkindly, "it seems you have me at a disadvantage. You know me, but I don't know you."

Deke sat back in his seat and sighed. He had questions of his own, but he knew now how this worked. He’d have to answer all of theirs first. And they might not like what he had to tell them. "Yeah. Time travel is funny that way."

"You say you're from the future. Tell me more about that."

"I first met you in the year 2091. Best and worst day of my life." Deke chuckled. He'd always played the long game, but back then he had no idea just how long the game would turn out to be. And as much as some parts of it majorly sucked, he wouldn't change anything if he could go back -- or, technically, forward -- and do it all over. Except maybe selling out Daisy to Kasius. He probably wouldn't do that again.

"That's 78 years from now. How do you explain that?"

"You guys traveled forward in time first. There was this prophecy that you were going to save the world. So a group of survivors in the future used a machine and an alien rock to bring you there from 2018."

"Survivors?"

"In the future I'm from, the whole planet was destroyed and what was left of humanity was confined to the Lighthouse. It was not a good place. But then you came, you and the whole gang, and then you went back to your time and changed it. At least I think you did. I wasn't really there for that part."

"When you say the whole gang . . ."

"The team. You, May, Daisy, Jemma--"

Coulson cut him off. "Wait. Who's Daisy?"

"Daisy Johnson. You know, Quake? Inhuman with vibration powers? Kick-ass fighter, huge-ass chip on her shoulder? She almost cracked the world apart. But you stopped it from happening."

There was no hint of recognition from Coulson. Maybe Daisy wasn't part of the team yet. "Who else was there?"

"Mack and Yo-Yo. Fitz came later with this robot guy named Enoch and he and Simmons figured out how to fix the machine to get you all home. I guess I got caught up in it and was pulled back with you. I have no idea how it happened the second time. I just wound up here."

"That's quite a story. How do I know this isn't some kind of Hydra trick?"

"Hydra? Like Hale’s Hydra?"

"I think you mean 'Hail Hydra,'" Coulson grimaced, as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

"No, I mean General Hale. She was Hydra."

"Okay, let's stop before this turns into a comedy routine."

"In the future -- the 2018 future -- you thought you'd eliminated Hydra. But she was the last of them. Her and her psycho daughter. They both died, though. So you did finally beat them in the end."

"That's the first good news I've heard about this future of yours. But you still haven't given me any reason to trust you."

He didn't have a reason to give. It wasn't like in the future, when Daisy and FitzSimmons had no choice because they needed his help to escape. Here, they could lock him up indefinitely if they wanted and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Then a thought occurred to him. Words weren't enough to convince them, but something else might.

"Hey, don't you guys have a test that can tell you who someone's parents are? Or, like, who their grandparents are? Do that test on me."

"Why? What do you think we'll find?"

"Just run the test, okay? Do you need blood? Here. Take it." He rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm, still bruised from the IV after his recent surgery.

Coulson looked surprised, and a little repulsed. "That won't be necessary." Then he opened up a previously hidden panel in the wall and spoke into a communication relay. "Trip, get a DNA kit and meet me outside the cage."

"What . . . what about Jemma? Can't she do it?"

"Simmons?" There was something in the way Coulson said her name and the flash of his eyes that set off an alarm in Deke's head. Something he wasn't saying.

"Wait, is she not here? Did something happen to her?"

Coulson must have realized he'd given away more than he intended, because his face transformed back into his usual, inscrutable expression.

"I think we're done for now. One of my agents will get a sample from your cheek and then we'll talk some more."

Then, without waiting for a response, Coulson turned and left Deke alone once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timing of this worked out well, coming on the heels of the Comic-Con announcement that Jeff Ward is definitely coming back for S6. Writing Deke is tricky, because he's kind of been all over the place on the show. But that also leaves room to pick a version that works for you. I hope I did him justice.


	3. Fitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to our favorite struggling Scottish engineer, who makes an interesting discovery.

The Playground - 2014

Fitz awoke with a start as the blurry faces of Mack and Coulson came into view. He'd fallen asleep at his workstation again, and his neck ached from the odd angle. He tried to massage it with one hand, but then his hand started to cramp up too. Mack gently patted him on the shoulder.

"Turbo? Hey, buddy."

"What?" He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, trying to look alert.

"We need your help, Fitz," Coulson said.

It was hard enough to communicate when he was fully awake, but the sleepiness clouding his brain made it even worse. He squinted at the two men, slowly processing the director's words. They waited patiently for him to respond.

"Yeah. Sure. What . . . whatever you need."

Coulson handed him a sample bag. Inside, there was a glass tube containing a swab. He tried to keep his hand steady as he took it and placed it carefully on the desk.

"I need you to run an analysis on this DNA sample."

Fitz rubbed his chin, and found the stubble there slightly moist with saliva. He must have been drooling while he slept. Brilliant. "What are we testing for?"

"Start with a genetic profile. See if you can find a match in the database."

"I can help out if you want," Mack added.

"No. I can do it myself." It came out sounding defensive, but he didn't care.

He'd watched Simmons run analyses like this countless times, and often helped out when he wasn't busy with something else. It wasn't an especially difficult task. The program did most of the work. And it was long past time he stopped relying on other people to do his job for him.

"Aw, let him help," Simmons said. He could see her in the gap between Coulson and Mack, standing just behind them. "Nobody expects you to do everything on your own. He's only being supportive."

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not now."

Coulson and Mack shared a concerned look. "Oh. Well, we could come back later if it's---" the director began.

"No! I mean . . . what I mean to say is . . . it's not . . . I'll have the results for you in an hour."

"Sounds good," Coulson said. He paused, seemingly hesitant to go. "I guess we'll leave you to it."

"Let me know if you need anything," Mack said, clapping him on the back, a little harder this time.

Fitz was on the other side of the lab working on another project when he heard the workstation beep loudly, indicating the test was done. He'd almost forgotten it was running. As Coulson had requested, the first thing he did was search the database for a match.

It came up with two.

"Bloody hell. It's us," Simmons said. She was leaning over his chair, one hand on his shoulder, studying the screen.

Sure enough, his own face stared back at him from the monitor, alongside one Agent Jemma Simmons.

"I can see that," he said testily. "But how can that be?"

"The results seem to indicate we share a close descendant. Interesting."

It didn't make sense. The percentages of shared DNA with the subject suggested at least one generation removed. Not a child but . . .

"A grandchild," Simmons finished for him.

"Or a mistake." Fitz stood up and started to pace, tugging at the edges of his cardigan. "I must have mucked up the test somehow."

"Nonsense," she said, following him with her eyes. "I was with you every step of the way. We did everything right. Where did this sample come from?"

"Coulson never said."

"Do you think it has to do with that young man they brought in? He did say he was from the future."

Fitz shook his head. There were too many questions, too many variables. "That's ridiculous. I'm going to run it again."

He got same results the second time. And the third.

"We should tell the director," Simmons said. "He's got to be anxious for the results by now."

"But what am I supposed say?" His voice broke as he said the words. His mind was having trouble keeping up with all the thoughts swirling around in it. "'I tested the sample like you asked. Turns out it's from my own grandchild.' Even if . . . even if I could get the words out . . ."

"You don't have to say anything. Let the science speak for itself."

Fitz knew the argument was pointless, for more than one reason. So he printed out the results and created a cursory report for Coulson as best he could, keeping the details as dry and scientific as possible. It wasn't his finest work, or the most complete, but it would have to do.

He almost turned around twice on the way to Coulson's office. If it weren't for Simmons encouraging him along the way, he might not have made it. When he finally reached his destination, he found a crowd. May, Skye, Trip, Hunter, and Mack were all gathered in front of Coulson's desk, discussing what to do with their new guest. No one noticed him enter, so Fitz stood in the open doorway and listened.

"I couldn't find any records of a Deke Shaw matching his profile anywhere," Skye said. "No facial recognition. No birth certificate, social security, financial records, legal documents. It all came up empty. The guy is a ghost."

"So are we," Coulson reminded her.

"No, sir. It's not just his identity that's missing. Everyone has a history, a digital trail, if you know where to look. But it's like he never existed."

"That would corroborate his story. But we're still waiting on more data. The question is what to do with him in the meantime."

"We could throw him in the vault with Ward," Hunter suggested. Fitz remained silent, but his free hand balled into a trembling fist at the mention of the man responsible for so much suffering. "Maybe they'd annoy each other to death."

The others smiled, but May shot him down with a look. "He could be Hydra too. Could be that's exactly what he wants."

"I met the guy," Trip said. "He's a strange dude, but he didn't seem like Hydra to me."

"Ward didn't seem like Hydra either," Skye said, her voice rising. She made a good point. Fitz would have backed her up, if he could have. "And he turned out to be a lying, murderous traitor."

"I don't think so," Coulson said. "My gut says he's telling the truth."

"You really think he's from the future, sir?" Mack asked.

"We've seen our share of crazy around here, haven't we? Why draw the line at time travel? If he's on the level, there's a lot we can learn from him."

Caught up in Coulson's words, Fitz leaned a bit too far against the door and it squeaked on his hinges. The sound startled him and he tripped against it, making even more noise. Suddenly, he felt six pairs of eyes on him.

"Fitz," Coulson said brightly. "Good to see you. Come join us. Anything on that DNA test yet?"

He'd gotten used to the ease with which he communicated with Simmons in the lab. It was much harder to talk to real people, especially when they were all staring at him like that. 

"Yeah. I have . . . the . . . ehm . . . it's done," he muttered, scratching the back of his ear. Coulson came over and held out his hand for the report. Fitz held up one finger and smiled weakly. " _But_ . . . it's . . . the results are . . . well, I don't understand them, sir." 

“What did you find?”

“By any chance did the sample come from . . . from . . ."

"From the suspect we found in the Lighthouse, yes."

"Suspect? What's he done?"

Fitz held the file folder closer to his chest. He felt a strange sense of protectiveness come over him that he couldn't explain. He'd only just discovered this mystery man was somehow related to him (and to Simmons as well -- a concept he hadn't even attempted to grasp yet) and he was ready to defend him to the director.

"Sorry. Bad word choice. There’s no crime here. Except maybe trespassing. But since the place was off the books, there’s no one to press charges. Can I see the report now, Fitz?" Coulson said. He held his hand out again.

"Okay, I ran the test three times. Every time it came out exactly the same. There's no . . . error? . . . ma . . . mar? . . . margin of error . . . sir."

"Understood. How about you hand it over and we'll take a look?"

Fitz let Coulson slowly take the folder from him, fighting the urge to pull it back. When it was finally in his hands, he opened it and scanned the first page. His eyes went immediately to Fitz, questioning. Fitz nodded in silent confirmation. The rest looked at each other in confusion, waiting for a revelation that didn't come.

Coulson merely closed the folder and placed both hands on his desk. Then he addressed his second in command. "May, get a message to our double agent on the inside. Tell her we're going to have to extract Simmons earlier than planned."

May squared her shoulders and straightened her back. "What is it, sir? Is there a problem?"

Coulson gave her a wry smile. "No problem. Just another mouth to feed."


	4. Deke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deke goes exploring and meets some familiar faces.

It was hours before Deke saw Coulson again. In that time he'd felt the plane's descent and heard the engines wind down. They were on the ground somewhere. And he was stuck waiting. Again.

He had already paced the length of the room several times, tried sitting on the floor for a change of scenery, lying with his back on the cool metal table, his legs dangling beneath him. The ceiling looked exactly the same as the walls. He'd finally settled back into the chair again when he heard the door open. Coulson walked in carrying a file folder under his arm.

"I get why you wanted that DNA test now," he said without preamble, dropping the folder on the table. It was open and the top page showed Fitz and Jemma's pictures, side by side. They looked so much younger than the couple he'd known in the future-past. "You're a FitzSimmons."

Finally. Progress. "Then you believe me?"

"The data confirms it. As I'm sure you knew it would. But you should also know, just because you happen to be related to two of my best agents doesn't mean I automatically trust you."

"I know. But, come on. You know FitzSimmons. My mother was their daughter. She raised me. Until she was killed by evil blue aliens, but that's beside the point. I mean, can you imagine any kid of theirs being anything other than extraordinary?"

Coulson shook his head, considering it. "Honestly? No. I can't."

"So can I go now? Can I see them?"

"We'll get to that."

Deke ran his hands over his face. "If you want to know how time travel works, I can't help you because I have no idea."

"Mr. Shaw--"

"Call me Deke."

"Deke. My job isn't to figure out where you came from or how you got here. My job is to make sure you don't pose a threat to the people I've sworn to protect. So here's what we're going to do: I'm confining you to the base so we can keep an eye on you. We'll provide you with a bed, fresh clothes, and hot meals. You can make yourself useful in the lab assisting Fitz until further notice. But you are not to leave the base without explicit permission from me. Is that understood?"

Deke had spent his entire life in an underground bunker; he could handle living within the bounds of a military base for a while. It was perfect, actually. He'd have everything he needed to get by, plus -- if he played it right -- access to the S.H.I.E.L.D. computers. Daisy had to be out there somewhere. If he could find her, he might have a chance at a fresh start, to make a better first impression. Maybe she wouldn't hate him so much this time around.

"Fine by me," he told Coulson, holding his hands up in submission. "But have you talked to Gramps about this? Because he really hates playing babysitter."

Coulson gave him a dubious look, as if the suggestion of Fitz babysitting anyone was the craziest thing he'd said so far. Then he walked over to the door and opened it, stepping aside so Deke could pass through.

"I have other matters to attend to, so I'm afraid I can't give you the tour. I'll escort you off the plane, then you're on your own. Just remember what I said. And don't make me regret this."

"You won't. I promise."

The first place Deke thought to go was the lab. There weren't any signs pointing the way, so he wandered through the brick-lined corridors searching for it. He'd slowed down for a moment to look at a large red logo painted on the wall when he smacked into something large and solid.

"Whoa, whoa. Watch where you're going, man," said Mack.

"Mack!" Deke said, before realizing he had no idea who he was. "Hi, uh, it's good to meet you."

He held out his hand, but Mack just looked at it.

"So you're the Marty McFly everyone's been talking about."

"Actually, my name's Deke. Deke Shaw."

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is if you do anything to hurt my friends, you'll have to answer to me. Got it?"

"Roger that, big man." Deke gave his best impression of a salute. Mack was unimpressed. "Hey, which way is it to the lab? I'm all turned around. All these hallways look the same."

"It's this way. Follow me."

They were almost there -- Deke could see large windows up ahead, and beyond them an open space filled with computers and scientific equipment -- when Mack stopped to talk to someone coming around the corner. With Mack's large frame in the way, Deke had to go around him to see who it was. When he did, his heart nearly beat out of his chest.

"Daisy? You're here! I didn't think--"

"Who's Daisy?" she said, looking back and forth between him and Mack.

"Don't look at me. I just met the guy," Mack said.

"You're Daisy," Deke said, as if it were obvious. "Aren't you?"

"No. I'm Skye."

"Oh. Okay." He laughed awkwardly, then stopped when he saw that she wasn't laughing with him. “That’s weird.”

"Why is that weird?" she said, challenging him. Yes, this had to be the same Daisy. He recognized the unique cocktail of attraction and frustration she always stirred up in him. So much for first impressions.

"It's just, in the future I knew you as Daisy Johnson. You must have changed your name. You seem to have a _lot_ of names. What's that about?"

Skye/Daisy shook her head dismissively and turned back to Mack to continue the conversation Deke had interrupted. It was something about inventory and logistics, and Deke quickly lost interest. Tuning them out, he peered through the lab window, where he caught a glimpse of someone hunched over a work table. 

"Wait, is that Fitz?" he asked, pointing at the glass. Mack’s eyes followed his finger, then he nodded.

He looked so different, more like the boy he'd seen in Coulson's file than the man Deke remembered. He was wearing a plaid shirt and a thick cardigan sweater, and he was muttering to himself as he worked on a small device with shaking hands. No, not to himself. He was talking to someone else. In an empty lab. Deke watched him for a while, unseen, looking for recognizable traces of the testy, brilliant, mature scientist he knew. He scarcely found any.

"What's wrong with him?" he said softly. Mack and Skye grew quiet.

"He nearly drowned at the bottom of the Atlantic," Daisy -- no _Skye_ \-- said. "Another agent saved him. Or he saved her. I'm not really clear on the details. But I know his brain was deprived of oxygen for several minutes. He hasn't been the same since."

"I didn't know that," Deke said, more to himself than to Mack and Skye. They were now watching Fitz too, as he fumbled with a tool and cursed at the ceiling. Their eyes were so full of sympathy and compassion. Fitz was lucky to have friends who cared about him like that.

"The guy I knew could be moody, but he didn't seem this . . . broken," Deke said. And then an image of Daisy screaming on a makeshift operating table as Fitz cut into her flashed through his mind. "Although, now that I think about it, it does explain a lot."

"Do I want to know what that means?" Skye asked.

"You really don't," Deke answered, his voice thick.

He shook his head to banish the thoughts of that other Fitz, and another memory came to him -- a conversation in the command center about what it was like at the bottom of the ocean. _Cold. Dark._ No wonder they'd looked at him like that.

"The other agent you mentioned, was it Simmons?" he asked them.

"Yeah. How did you know?" Mack said.

"Just a hunch. Where is she now? Why isn't she with him?" He recalled the way Coulson had reacted earlier when he'd asked about her, like he was hiding something.

"She's away on an assignment," was all Skye would say. She brushed the bottom of her eyelashes with her thumb.

Deke couldn't believe Jemma would leave Fitz alone, especially now when he so clearly needed her help. "For how long?"

"Few months now."

" _Months_? They've been apart that long? That's not good. In the future they literally had a rule."

He was pretty sure he didn’t have to worry about blinking out of existence if they didn’t follow the same path they had in his timeline. Yet he still cared about them and wanted to see them get their happy future together. As it turned out, he was capable of personal growth after all.

A little smile played on Skye's lips. "So in the future, FitzSimmons are . . . together together? Like a couple?"

"You mean they aren't here?" Mack and Skye both shook their heads. "Huh. They just seemed like they'd always been together. I mean, I was at their wedding. Picked out the rings and everything."

Skye put her hands on his chest and shoved so hard he nearly lost his balance. "Their _what_?"

Mack stepped between them, obscuring Skye from Deke’s view so he could no longer see the look of delight on her face. "I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to know too much about the future."

"So if you had a hot Latina girlfriend in the future -- and I'm not saying you definitely do -- you wouldn't want to know about her?"

Skye interrupted before Mack could answer Deke’s query. "Uh, guys?"

They turned their attention toward the lab, where Fitz was standing at the work table, staring at the three of them with wide eyes.


	5. Fitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deke and Fitz finally talk.

The sound of Skye's voice in the hall startled Fitz from his work. He heard her practically shriek the words, "Their _what_?" and caught a glimpse of her pushing someone, though it seemed more of a playful push than an angry one. Mack was there too, talking to the stranger in a calmer voice. Fitz couldn't hear anything else they were saying.

"So that's Deke," Simmons said, nodding her head toward the window. 

Fitz turned his back to his friends. "You don't know that for sure," he whispered.

"Look at how he's standing," Simmons pointed out, her voice at a normal volume. The young man's hands were positioned on his back in a posture Fitz recognized all too well. "He didn't get that from me."

He mentally pushed away the implication in her words, and the way they made his stomach go all queasy.

Skye was the first to notice him noticing them, and clued in the other two. Without another word, they made their way to join him in the lab.

"How's it going, Fitz?" Skye asked, putting on an overly upbeat facade. 

"Fine." The response had become automatic, and was rarely true. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone, but he always said it just the same. "Is this . . . are you . . . Deke?"

"That's me." There was an edge to the young man's voice, a hint of nerves. 

"And . . . you know who I am?" Fitz hoped he caught the hidden meaning in the question.

"I know," he said, meeting Fitz's intense gaze with a subtle nod. 

Earlier, after clearing his office, Coulson had filled him in on everything Deke had told him. The Lighthouse. The future. The world cracking apart. And he claimed they'd changed it, which was preposterous. The one thing they hadn't discussed was whether to share Deke's heredity with the rest of the team, but on this point no discussion was necessary. They both knew it was better if it remained between the two of them for now. Or, Fitz supposed, the three of them.

Mack's low voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Just checking in to see if you needed anything."

"I said I'm _fine_ ," Fitz repeated, looking at Deke. They needed to talk, but he didn't want to do it with Skye and Mack hovering. "Or I will be if I can get through this without any more bloody interruptions."

"Copy that," Skye said, her voice suddenly brittle.

Fitz sighed and leaned over the work table, gripping the edge tightly. He could cope with aphasia and his useless hands; what he couldn't stand was the way he kept hurting the people he cared about. He softened his tone, but didn't meet their eyes. "Sorry. Rough day."

"It's all right, Turbo. We know you didn't mean it," Mack said. "We'll let you get back to work."

"Deke can stay," Fitz threw out casually, as if it were an afterthought. "If he wants."

There was an awkward silence. When Fitz ventured a glance at Skye and Mack, they were looking at each other with puzzled expressions. 

Deke spoke up, catching on. "Yeah. I mean, okay. I could stay. Coulson said I should make myself useful anyway."

Skye and Mack shrugged and headed out the door, shaking their heads in bewilderment. Fitz sensed they were relieved to have an escape, and more than happy to be rid of Deke.

But now that it was just the two of them, Fitz had no idea where to start.

"So," was all he could manage.

"So," Deke repeated back. 

Simmons stood at Deke's side, examining his face closely. "He has your eyes, I think."

Fitz tried to ignore her but -- as had been the case since the moment he met her -- he found he was incapable of it. 

Deke followed Fitz's eye line to the empty space next to him, then back to Fitz's face. "You see her, don't you?"

Startled, Fitz shot back, "What? No. I don't . . . what? See who?"

"Oh, he's clever isn't he?" Simmons observed with pride. "Finally, something he gets from me."

Fitz hid his head in his hands. 

"I saw you talking to someone before. Someone who wasn't here. Figured it was Jemma you were seeing. It's okay. You must miss her a lot."

It was a long time before Fitz could speak again. When he did, his voice sounded weak and far away. "How?" 

Deke side-eyed him. "How what? You're going to have to be more specific."

"How . . . are you . . . possible?"

"Time travel. Insane, right?"

"No, I mean . . . how . . ." Fitz rolled his hands over one another as he tried to explain. This wasn't something he could have comfortably discussed before his injury. Now it was damn near impossible.

"Oh, you want to know the family connection. Yeah. Your daughter was my mother."

" _My_ daughter. Mine and . . ."

"Mine," Simmons said, in her typical, matter-of-fact way.

"Jemma's," Deke said, at exactly the same time.

Fitz covered his mouth with one shaking hand. He felt lightheaded, like he was going to pass out. It was one thing to read the scientific analysis on a screen, but to have it spelled out so plainly, it was like having the floor open up beneath him.

"I have to say, you're taking this a lot better than you did the first time," Deke said.

Fitz wiped his eyes with one arm, soaking up unshed tears with his sweater before they could escape, as he tried to process Deke's words. "The first time? You've told me this before?"

"Actually, it was Jemma. You did not take it well." Deke tucked his chin into his chest and laughed.

"Why not?"

Deke seemed to consider the question, then dismissed it with a shrug of his shoulders. "You know, I couldn't say. It was weird because of how great we got along. Like, we just hit it off right away. We even almost played ball once."

Fitz was skeptical. Genetics aside, Deke didn't seem like someone he would instantly befriend under any circumstances. He rarely got along with anyone upon first meeting them.

"You did with me," Simmons reminded him.

Fitz knew he'd never get through this conversation with her around, so he wished her away with a silent apology. It was hard enough trying to envision a world in which they were not only parents but _grandparents_ without her image in front of him, beautiful and utterly unattainable.

"I'm just . . .having trouble with . . . how we get from here to there. We're just . . . She doesn't . . ." 

"Love you? Of course she does, you idiot." Fitz frowned, taking offense at the remark. Deke went on, paying him no notice. "I've never seen two people more in love. If you don't believe anything else I've said, believe that."

That was the one thing he couldn't let himself believe, his most forbidden fantasy. The same one he'd had since he was 16 years old. She was well out of his league and they both knew it. She deserved someone strong and good, who could protect her and be her hero. Someone who had no trouble telling her what was on his mind. 

"But she left." The words were edged with desperation and hopelessness. Even if there was a possibility she might be coming back soon, there was still the undeniable fact that she'd abandoned him in the first place.

"Maybe she had a good reason."

Fitz let out a shaky breath. "There's only two I can think of, and . . . and . . . neither . . . well, it couldn't be what you said."

"Look, I'm just telling you what I know, man. You can be alone and miserable without her or you can go for it and be disgustingly happy together. Your choice. Doesn't affect me one way or the other."

"True. You're here, so we must work it out somehow."

"Not necessarily. The future can be changed."

"No it can't. Time is . . ."

"Fixed? Yeah, no. It's not." 

"It's an illusion," Fitz insisted, raising a tense fist. "There is no . . . no . . . past, no present, no future. It just . . . it just _is_."

Deke grunted in frustration. Clearly this wasn't the first time they'd discussed this particular subject. "We've been through this. Here, I'll prove it."

His head swiveled around, looking for something. "Where are your tools? Do you have number 17 around here somewhere?"

Fitz nodded. He wasn't sure he wanted to know where this was headed, but his curiosity got the best of him. He showed Deke to the drawers where the tools were kept. Deke dug through them until he found the one he was looking for. 

He held it out to Fitz. "Okay, this is yours. Right?" 

"Yeah," he confirmed, taking it.

"Well, this is the future version." Deke reached into his pocket and pulled out a well-aged replica of the same tool Fitz was holding. It was identical, down to the engraved number on the side. "It was handed down to me from you. The sum total of my inheritance."

Up until that moment, Fitz only half believed Deke's story about being from the future. But he was looking at two copies of a single object from two different time periods. Concrete proof.

Deke took the newer tool from Fitz and placed it on the counter. "Now watch this." 

Returning to the open drawer, Deke drew out a large hammer. Fitz reflexively jumped back, hands in front of his face, as Deke lifted it above his head. With brutal force, he brought the hammer down on the tool, denting it beyond use.

"What the bloody hell!" Fitz bellowed.

"Just look." Deke picked up the broken tool and held it so Fitz could see, comparing it to his own tool from the future, which was unchanged. "Same tool, two different futures. Do you believe me now?"

Fitz took in a long breath and fell into the nearest chair. The background buzzing in his head was starting to become more of a sharp stinging. It would be a full-blown headache soon, the kind that made it hard to concentrate on anything else. "I can't do this," he said, waving his hands. "It's too much."

"It gets better," Deke reassured him. "You'll get better."

"That's what everyone keeps saying. And yet . . ." He slapped the side of his head with one hand, which only accelerated the speed of the growing discomfort.

"But I'm _not_ just saying it. I've seen it. You're so different from the Fitz I met in the future. He was articulate, confident, heroic. And yeah, he was a major ass to me most of the time, but he built amazing things. And he saved a lot of people."

Fitz wasn't sure whether to be offended or hopeful. Then he remembered something Deke had said earlier. "I thought we got along great," he said with a smirk.

"Okay, I may have exaggerated that part. But everything else is one hundred percent true."

The headache that had been building was now at full strength, and it occurred to Fitz that he was long overdue for his medication. The mountain of questions piling up would have to wait for another time. Maybe he'd be able to process it better on a full stomach and a few hours of sleep.

"Sorry, I . . . need a break. This is . . . Can we continue tomorrow?"

Deke looked surprised and, if Fitz wasn't mistaken, a little disappointed. "Yeah. Sure. I can come back. I should probably figure out where they've got me staying anyway."

In the days that followed, Deke came to the lab to work with Fitz every day. Fitz decided not to ask any more questions until he could fully wrap his head around the information he already had. He found that Deke needed little guidance from him to figure out how to operate the equipment. It was almost like working with Simmons, but different too, and not just in the most obvious ways. 

For one thing, Deke talked a lot. Well, not talked so much as rambled on. At first Fitz found it supremely annoying, but when he realized that it meant he didn't have to talk as much himself, it was somewhat of a relief. Mack popped in from time to time to lend a hand, rolling his eyes and challenging Deke on some of his more absurd observations and inscrutable references. Still, the three of them made quite a team.

On the fourth day, Skye came to see them. Fitz noticed the way Deke's face lit up when she entered the room, and the way he tried (and failed miserably) to hide it immediately after. Had he ever been that transparent around Simmons? It was a wonder he'd ever been able to fool anyone at all. She seemed to be the only one who hadn't seen it. 

"I have good news," Skye said. For once her buoyant mood seemed genuine. "Simmons is coming back."

Fitz and Deke responded at the same time. 

"Is she safe? Does she need backup?" said Fitz.

"Hope she kicked some Hydra ass on her way out the door," said Deke.

"Whoa, easy guys," Skye said, holding up her hands. "Fitz, she's fine. There was a fight, but nothing we didn't anticipate. Trip and our agent inside are on their way back with her now."

Fitz's hands started trembling at his sides. Whether it was due to the thought of Simmons being in danger or the thought of her coming back, he wasn't sure. Probably both.

"If they were expecting a fight, why didn't you go?" asked Deke.

Skye's brow furrowed. Fitz's heart went out to Deke. The poor guy didn't stand a chance. "Why would I go?"

"I mean, couldn't you just," Deke thrust his arm out in front of him, palm out, as if he were attempting to push something away at great speed, "you know?"

"No, I don't know. What are you talking about?"

"You know," Deke said again, more emphatically, as if that would make it clearer, "your Quake powers."

The two of them went back and forth for a while. Fitz caught a few strange words here and there -- like "inhuman" and "terrigenesis" -- but as intriguing as their conversation was, he couldn't focus on it. He was too distracted by the news that Simmons was on her way back. Simmons was coming home. And they had a lot to talk about. 

Which was exactly the problem.


	6. Jemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have a new point of view this time! Jemma finally enters the story.

Getting out of Hydra hadn't been easy, but it was nothing compared to returning to the base. 

From the moment Jemma had received the coded message telling her an extraction was imminent, all she could think about was Fitz and what she'd say to him when she saw him again. She tried to come up with a speech in her head, but no words could convey all the big, heavy feelings roiling through her like a storm since she'd left. Since before, really. Since those awful, wonderful, last few moments in the pod.

And now, here she was, separated from him by a mere inch of glass and years of things unsaid. She watched him through the window of the lab, working with a young man she didn't recognize. The two of them were so absorbed in their work she was able to observe them, unseen, for some time. They were examining a schematic on the computer screen for what looked like the massive plane he'd dreamt about designing since the Academy.

She couldn't hear what they were saying, but the man seemed to finish Fitz's sentences the way she used to. Something about that made her chest ache. She'd come to the conclusion he'd be better off without her, and it appeared she'd been right. She was thrilled with his progress, of course. He was back at work doing what he loved. Yet there was a selfish part of her that wished she'd been wrong.

Needing more than just the sight of him, she tore herself from the window and went to the door. She opened it with a deep breath, preparing for the moment she'd been yearning for and dreading in equal measure.

"Hi, Fitz," she said, just loud enough to get his attention.

He looked up from his work and froze. Even from across the room she could hear him suck in an uneven breath as he took a few tentative steps towards her, hands jittery, eyes glassy. She started to meet him halfway, but before she could move he closed the distance between them and wrapped her up in his arms. The gesture took her by surprise, but her body, almost of its own accord, relaxed into him instinctively. She sighed deeply, enjoying the soft feel of his cardigan against her cheek and his warm, comforting scent.

She could feel nearly all of his breath leave him, hot on the back of her neck. He was trembling all over. They both were. She worried she might collapse if he ever let her go. They clung to each other for a while, much longer than two people who were supposed to be just best friends would. As they stood there contentedly entwined, something subtle shifted between them. Her thoughts narrowed to a single word, pounding in her head like a drum in time with the frantic beating of her heart: home.

She wasn't sure which one of them broke contact first. Maybe they both did at the same time. She only knew she missed it immediately. As their embrace ended her head began to clear and she became aware of Fitz's companion, who had been standing there, watching the entire exchange with a big, goofy grin on his face. She straightened her jumper and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Who's this?" she said.

Fitz looked back startled, as if he'd forgotten they weren't alone. "Oh. Jemma Simmons, meet Deke Shaw, time traveler from the future."

"Ah." She assumed he was kidding -- as time travel wasn't possible -- but she didn't get the joke. It must have been something shared between the two of them, because they looked at each other with matching smirks. So they had inside jokes now, too. She pursed her lips and changed the subject. "How've you been?"

"Good," Deke responded. "I mean, you know, I'm adjusting. It's pretty strange going back in time, and then going even further back in time. Like, what's next? The Ice Age? And you weren't talking to me were you?"

She felt gratified to see a look of exasperation on Fitz's face. And then she had to chastise herself for having such a thought, because didn't he deserve to have a friend?

"Is there somewhere else you could be right now?" Fitz said abruptly.

"Right," Deke said with a nod. "I'll leave you to your reunion or whatever. Catch you on the flip side. That's a saying I learned right before . . . you know what? Never mind. It's . . ."

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as Deke awkwardly fled the lab. Without his rambling to hold back the silence, it spread out into the corners of the room. Jemma felt the weight of it, threatening to pull her under. 

"The new lab looks like it's coming along nicely," she said, looking directly at Fitz. A hint of pink crept into his cheeks. 

"Look, Jemma." 

The sound of her first name from his lips startled her. His confession in the pod had caused her to go back and revisit all of her memories of their relationship from the start, and she'd come to recognize certain moments when his feelings had been close to the surface. Using her first name was one of his tells.

"There's something you should know--"

"Fitz--"

"No, no. It's not that. I just . . . thought it might be easier . . . if . . . if you saw for yourself." He reached into the case where they kept the biological samples and pulled out a blue bag. "Here. I got you something. Like a . . . a . . . welcome home . . . present."

She looked at the label. They apparently had very different notions of what constituted a present. "A tissue sample?"

"Even gift wrapped it." He held up the sample bag between his first two fingers and offered it to her. 

She took it and smiled tightly. "And I didn't get you anything."

Fitz crossed his arms. There was something curiously playful in his manner that warmed her to her core. "Wouldn't be too sure, Simmons."

"And whom do I have to thank for this lovely gift? Besides you, I mean."

"You just met him. Deke. I wasn't joking when I said he was from the future. The director thinks he might be . . . um . . .uh . . . you know . . . useful. But all he does is hang around the lab like a puppy looking for a home."

Jemma scoffed. "That's impossible."

"Which part?" he asked.

Jemma rolled her eyes. The gesture brought a small smile to his lips. 

"The part where he's from the future," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

"I dunno." He punctuated the sentiment with an exaggerated shrug. "Impossible things happen every day. To us, especially."

The last bit came out sounding meaningful, but she couldn't guess at what that meaning might be. It was strange, not knowing what he was thinking anymore. She'd begun to question whether she ever really had. She just wanted to go back to hugging. Everything had been much simpler in that moment.

Jemma squinted and spoke slowly, just to see if the idea sounded as ludicrous out loud. "So you want me to test this sample to prove your new lab assistant is from the future?"

"He's not my assistant," Fitz shot back before she'd even gotten all the words out. "And I already did. The science supports it."

"Maybe you didn't do it right?" she suggested gingerly, anticipating his indignant reaction. 

"Oh please, Simmons . . ." Fitz began. 

"It's just that sometimes you can be careless with your vectors . . ." she said over his words as he continued unabated.

"--I may not have a PhD in bio-chem but I know how to run a simple test. I'm brain damaged, not stupid."

"--It can happen to anyone. And a second pair of eyes couldn't hurt." 

They stopped speaking at the same time and beamed at each other. To the outside observer it might have looked like they were arguing, but the ease with which they fell back into their customary style of verbal sparring gave Jemma a fond, fuzzy feeling all over. Like a hug, but with words. She'd missed this aspect of their relationship more than she'd realized.

"Of course I an . . . ant . . . knew you'd want to check my work. Why do you think I gave you that?" He nodded at the bag in her hand.

This was exactly what they needed, she decided -- a project to work on together. No matter what other communication difficulties they had, science was their first language. It had saved them before and it would save them again.

"So," she said, full of conviction. "Where do we start?"

A few hours later, Jemma lifted her weary eyes from the microscope. She'd run every test she could think of that might provide data to either support or refute Deke's wild claim. Fitz had been a restless ball of energy, bouncing from one end of the lab to the other as she worked, but now he stood stock-still behind her, waiting for her analysis.

"Well, if you made any mistakes I must have made the same ones," she said, pulling off her rubber gloves. "Because these results all point in the same direction."

"To the impossible?" Fitz suggested, eyebrows raised. 

"The sample shows no evidence of environmental pollution or UVB photons or anything you'd expect to see in a normal person. But it does contain evidence of exposure to rare metals, a host of toxins I've only read about in books, and some substances I can't even identify. So either he's spent his entire life in an underground cave or he really is from the future." 

"Told you so." There was a glimmer in his eye she recognized as his patented I-was-right look. It was somehow both adorable and infuriating at the same time.

"I suppose there are lots of things we once thought impossible that turned out to be not only possible, but inevitable," Jemma conceded. "Did you search the database for a genetic match?"

"Course I did. But that's what I wanted to . . ."

She was bringing up the results on the computer workstation before he could finish the thought. What she found left her speechless. She stared at the screen, gaping like the catch of the day.

"Fitz? What does this mean?" 

"I couldn't understand at first either. But if you apply the principle of . . . erm . . . what is it? With the . . . um . . . the sharp thingy?" Fitz bounced up and down on his toes and held his hand out to her, begging her to fill in the blank.

"Occam's razor?"

"Yes." His body relaxed and he took a deep breath.

"So you're saying the simplest explanation for these results would be . . ." 

"Yes," he said again. He turned away from her and folded his hands behind his head, a mannerism, she guessed, he'd developed to hide their shaking.

"Oh my god." Her voice was barely a whisper, but she knew he heard it.

And just like that, the impossible became inevitable.

He turned to look at her, wonder glistening in his blue eyes. There was something new there, too. Or maybe it had always been there and she'd refused to see it until now. 

"How do you think . . .?" she ventured.

"The usual way," he answered, looking down. His cheeks turned apple red. "Deke's mother was our daughter."

"We . . ." She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Now she was the one having trouble with words. "A daughter. A . . . grandson."

Fitz fidgeted where he stood, seemingly fighting a silent battle within himself. Then he faced her again, eyes intense, daring her to accept the truth and everything that went along with it. Surprisingly, she found that she could not only accept it, but welcomed it. All the doubts, the guilt, the fear that she might lose him or already had, became background noise, drowned out by the certainty that she loved this man beyond reason. Always had and always would. The next logical step came naturally.

In one swift move she launched herself at him, pressing her lips to his. It took Fitz an agonizing moment to respond to what was happening, and for an instant she worried that she'd misinterpreted or pushed him too fast. But soon enough he met her effort with a passion so powerful it nearly bowled her over. His lips were soft but firm, pleading for more access as they moved over hers. She gave him everything he asked for. His hands roamed from her waist, up along her sides to her shoulders, before winding their way through her hair. A soft moan escaped her, encouraging him to deepen the kiss, nipping and sucking and tasting as he explored her mouth. She met his tongue with hers and found new, exquisite delights in the taste and feel of him.

Eventually, the need for air became pressing and they pulled away simultaneously, breathless and giddy. He touched his forehead to hers and said, "I love you, Jemma."

Her answer was on the tip of her tongue before she could even think about it. "I love you too, Fitz."

He smiled thoughtfully and shut his eyes. She kept hers open, mesmerized by the sight of his tongue running over his swollen, pink lips. Things would be different in the lab now with such distractions in close proximity. But that was a dilemma for another time.

"I'm sorry I couldn’t find the words to tell you," he murmured. "And then I _really_ couldn't find the words."

"Shh," she said, smoothing the side of his face with her hands. "Who needs words? Words are a source of misunderstanding. And besides, studies have shown the brain reacts more strongly to physical contact."

"You're too right, Dr. Simmons," he said, covering her hands with his own. 

"Better get used to saying that, Dr. Fitz," she joked.

They both laughed, but the sound was quickly muffled as their mouths came together in another, world-changing kiss.

The next day, they received a message from Deke, asking them to meet him in the lounge. When they got there Deke was nowhere to be found, but Mack, Skye, and Trip were standing in the kitchen talking. Soon, Coulson and May descended the stairs and stood together as if they were waiting for something. Bobbi and Hunter weren't far behind, bickering about something or other as they entered from the corridor. Jemma and Fitz sunk onto the empty couch together, leaving no space between them, and no doubt in anyone's mind about their new status. 

She noted the smiles all around and the nods of appreciation as the team took seats nearby, but only Hunter saw fit to comment. "Nice to see you two worked it out," he said. "Mack, you owe me a beer, mate."

Jemma could feel Fitz squirming next to her, so she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

Bobbi looked at Hunter like a teacher reprimanding her student. "Maybe it's not the best time, Hunter."

"And don't worry about working together," he continued. "If Bob and I can handle it, anyone can." 

"That wouldn't be my assessment," Coulson said. "Fortunately, we're talking about FitzSimmons here, so I have no concerns."

At that moment, Deke burst in, carrying two cases of some kind of brightly packaged beverage. The interruption shifted the spotlight away from Jemma and Fitz, and she was grateful for it.

"Did you know they discontinued Zima?" Deke announced to the group.

Mack and Trip helped him place the cases on the kitchen island and started passing out their contents.

Hunter perked up. "Hey, yeah. I remember Zima." The others looked at him with expressions ranging from surprise to curiosity to disgust, but he was unfazed. "What? It was surprisingly refreshing for a malt beverage."

" _Thank you_ ," Deke said, vindicated. "Don't worry, it comes back. But in the meantime, I found something almost as good. Meet Bartles & Jaymes."

"What's the occasion?" Skye said, examining a bottle labeled Exotic Berry.

"Um. The thing is," he looked directly at Skye in a way that Jemma recognized as longing, "I'm leaving. So I thought I'd throw a little goodbye party for myself."

Fitz left her side at the couch and went to stand near Deke. "Leaving? Why? You just got here."

"We discussed this," Coulson said, a hint of warning in his voice.

"I know I'm not supposed to leave the base without your permission. But I can't explain it. I just have this weird feeling that I need to go back to the Lighthouse. So I guess I'm asking for your permission."

Fitz had already explained to Jemma how they'd found him there, with no idea how he'd managed to travel back in time. Twice. It didn't make sense that he'd want to go back. But then there wasn't a lot about Deke that made sense.

Coulson considered it. "If you think this is really something you need to do, then I guess permission granted."

"Thank you, sir."

"What are you hoping to find?" Mack asked. 

"Not sure exactly. But I know it'll be interesting."

And so they turned on some music and gathered around the kitchen to wish Deke farewell, sipping wine coolers, asking questions about the future, and sharing stories about the past.

After a while, Jemma and Fitz returned to their seat on the couch. No longer the center of attention, they were content to snuggle together without the scrutiny of the team.

"So, Deke's got it bad for Skye, huh?" Jemma said.

"Oh, yeah. I'd say she was out of his league, but we Fitz men have a way of winning over the objects of our affection."

"Too bad he doesn't have years to work on it," she teased. "So what else did he tell you about the future?"

"Well, Skye's a superhero, we're married, and Coulson has a robotic hand that I built, so--"

She gasped and put her hand on his chest. "Wait, go back one."

He gave her a brilliant smile. "Caught that, did you?"

"Hard to miss. But none of that is guaranteed to happen though, right? You said the future can be changed."

"Maybe so. But some things never will."

His arms tightened around her and his expression turned serious. He didn't have to say it; she knew what he was trying to tell her. No matter what the future held, they'd face it together, with open arms and open hearts. They didn't need words anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, as they say, is that! Once again, I have to officially thank LibbyWeasly for being all around genuinely awesome and helping me find my way through this. (She's the one who informed me that Zima was discontinued in 2008 and brought back in 2017.) I had so much fun writing this and reading your comments along the way. I'm kind sad it's finished. But I'm also not. I hope you enjoy your gift, BrusselsSprout! Happy mid-year!

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first fic exchange and I was thrilled to get to write for the fantastic BrusselsSprout (aka @weareagentsofnothing on Tumblr). I hope you like it! I will be posting one chapter a day for the rest of this week.
> 
> Special thanks to LibbyWeasley for being there every step of the way, and for putting up with me bugging her at all hours when I was wrangling uncooperative characters.


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